


william in the big leagues

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Prompt: Will you write something fluffy with will like him as a teenager?





	william in the big leagues

William speaks three different languages, and he looks at people funny when they think mean thoughts about him. William plays the bassoon. William reads his entire textbook front to back the night before a major test and could ace that test, kill it dead, were you to give it to him years later. 

William can’t hit a baseball to save his goddamn life. 

It’s not that like-father-like-son projection bullshit you see in the movies. His father doesn’t push. William joins little league because he wants to join little league – baseball is kinda cool. He likes the numbers, the angles, he likes the single sip of beer his parents allow on nights the Yankees are playing. Beer is disgusting. 

William tells his mom that she’s going to drop the prized crystal pitcher before she drops the prized crystal pitcher. His warning never stops it from happening, so she just sighs and accepts defeat. William volunteers at the animal shelter on Saturday mornings and the dogs tell him their war stories. William needs a lot of iron in his diet.

His dad never gives up on him. They play catch, they run sandy circles, they slap baseballs into the night sky like they’re being paid to do it. It feels like they are. The need to get it right is similar to the crushing weight of high school coming at him like a fastball. It’s gotta happen. He needs to move forward. He’s gotta hit the ball.

His father is patient, almost quiet when they bat up every night. He gets a faraway look in his eyes that William would try to decipher if his dad wasn’t so emotional all the time. It’s disgusting. Being in his head is sometimes like watching Oprah and other times like one of those Tarantino films his mom lets him watch but dad shakes his head at. And then sometimes it’s like Star Trek: The Original Series. A lot of the time it’s like Star Trek: The Original Series.

William can compose beautiful songs that make his grandmother weep, but he prefers the fart noises on the old Casio. William didn’t realize breathing underwater was weird until his mother started screaming and yanking him out of the tub at the tender age of five. William could join the swim team, but he doesn’t want to.

William, in all honesty, could tell the ball where to go, could lift it over the trees and into the sky like a badass fighter jet. But he looks at his father. Looks at his mom, when she comes out to join them and kisses his dad and makes him want to puke. William could win the game and score homeruns and hit the ball so far out of the park the Mars Rover might be in for an unwelcome surprise. 

But it’s not about that.

He just wants to hit the damn ball.


End file.
